


the beika-cho regulars

by justjoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: (check chapter titles for characters), (updates whenever i guess?), Drabble Collection, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 02:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12049404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justjoy/pseuds/justjoy
Summary: "Have you ever written a ship fic of Conan and Orange Juice...?", And Other Stories(or: a collection of tumblr fics, asks, and assorted nonsense)





	1. technicalities [ai & conan]

**Author's Note:**

> a bunch of unrelated things being archived from tumblr for completeness maybe
> 
> (beware of: borderline crack, possible ooc moments, general lack of seriousness)
> 
> ((also yes some chapters were previously posted as standalone fics but this is me attempting to be less of a mess k))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (crossposted from [tumblr](http://presumenothing.tumblr.com/post/162045365020), come say hi!)
> 
> meanwhile, at agasa’s
> 
> (or, today on: fic? meme? both?)

_Just so we’re clear,_ she says one afternoon, over the sounds of the professor welding some part of his newest prototype in the workshop,  _I trust you about as far as I can throw you._

It’s early enough into their... forced acquaintance, say, that he hasn’t completely stopped tiptoeing around her like she’s a tilt fuse about to detonate. 

Still, Edogawa doesn't look up from his book – Ellery Queen instead of Holmes, for once, a thoroughly dog-eared copy in the original English. She’d wager her centrifuge that it’d been borrowed from (or, more precisely, thrust on him by) a certain Osakan detective. _You couldn’t lift me if you tried, Haibara._  

 _Exactly,_ Ai replies, not missing a beat.

He snorts, and turns the page.

 

* * *

 

(Later, her handphone buzzes with an incoming message – the words _DO YOU EVEN LIFT?_  superimposed in blocky white font over a set of vaguely familiar equations on a chalkboard.

No text accompanies the picture.

Ai looks it up. It’s a meme, apparently, though at least Edogawa had gone with the Navier-Stokes equations instead of an overly muscled man. Classy.

She screenshots the definition of _defenestration_  and captions it  _I'm sure Mouri-san would be happy to show me how._

The reply is plain text: _meme game #weak, haibara,_  followed by a fairly judgemental emoticon that has presumably brought hardened murderers to their knees.

_One of us has to be the adult around here, and you’re clearly out of the running._

She hits send, considers it for a moment, then taps out another text. _Think of the children, Edogawa-kun._

 _They were just fine before you came along,_  comes the immediate response.

 _Following your stellar example of crime-busting doesn’t necessarily equate to “fine” under most definitions._  Ai snickers – he’d walked right into that one.

Twenty seconds pass before her phone buzzes again.  _I was solving cases when I was their age too._

 _And we all know how that turned out,_  she begins to type, but deletes it with a vague twinge of something that burns not unlike guilt. Responsibility, perhaps. 

Instead, she sends  _Not murders, surely,_ before going to make a cup of green tea, and returns to see  _No, that didn’t really start till middle school._

She takes a bracing sip of the tea. It’s bitter, rather more so than when the professor makes it, and she already feels noticeably more awake.

Not that she isn’t accustomed to late nights – work schedules were unsurprisingly flexible when you literally ran the lab, really, and if keeping odd hours happened to mean lower chances of... _unpleasant_ encounters with certain other members of the Organisation, that was clearly nothing but fortuitous coincidence – but being a child again has undoubtedly compromised that ability.

On the other hand, under-eye concealer worked just as well on seven as on seventeen, and no amount of deaging was likely to affect her makeup skills.

 _I’ll try not to let matters reach that point again, then,_ Ai finally types.

She waits long enough to see the response –  _Very reassuring,_ and she takes the implied eyeroll as read – before switching off her phone and heading down to the makeshift lab in the basement, hands still wrapped around the warm mug.

Time to get to work.)

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um i s2g i wrote this just for the first 200 words of sassy semi-crack but idk?? the salt escalated quickly??? what happened  
> nerd notes: tilt fuses are usually mercury switches in detonators (basically what was used in the tokyo tower bomb case afaik). the navier-stokes aka NS equations are ~~literal nightmares~~  a set of frankly blood-curdling equations which can be used to [calculate](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lift_\(force\)#Navier-Stokes_.28NS.29_equations) [lift](https://www.grc.nasa.gov/www/k-12/airplane/nseqs.html) (aka aerodynamic lift aka the stuff that makes your planes fly, trust me i am an ~~rocket scientist™~~  aerospace engineer). as my dictionary says, defenestration: the action of throwing someone out of a window (example sentence being “death by defenestration has a venerable history.” which... okay?). i know less about makeup than i do any of the above topics. and last but not least,  
> 


	2. meanwhile in kyoto [shinichi & kazuha]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (crossposted from [tumblr](http://presumenothing.tumblr.com/post/164563547010), come say hi!)
> 
> utterly contextless scene y/y
> 
> in response to: shinichi & kazuha or heiji & ran, friends

**meanwhile:**

“I didn’t know they made pocky in – ” Shinichi checked the box between bites, “ – maple sugar flavour? I’ve never even  _seen_  this packaging before.”

“Of course not, Kudo-kun! This line’s only sold in two shops in Osaka, it’s nothing like what you have in Tokyo.” Kazuha grinned, reaching into her bag to pull out another two boxes. “Cream cheese sugar or yubari melon next?”

Shinichi reached for the melon-flavoured pocky, then paused. “Should we… y’know, wait for Ran and Hattori to come back before trying the rest?”

“Eh, it’s not like me and Heiji can’t get more when we want, ya just need to go early if you want ta avoid the queues.” Kazuha shrugged, handing the melon pocky to him. “I’ve already saved a few boxes for Ran-chan to bring home anyway, along with the limited edition KitKats she wanted.”

“Well, I’m claiming Hattori’s share if he doesn’t get back soon.” Shinichi opened the box and pulled out a stick, looking around the park. “Actually, shouldn’t they be back by now? I thought the ice-cream shop was just right across this bridge.”

“Maybe they had to go back for another after Heiji  _accidentally_  ate everything he was holding.” Kazuha bit into her pocky with a sudden ferocity that suggested old vengeances. “Don’t ya worry, Kudo-kun, Arashiyama isn’t that big, and I already drew him a map to the place and back. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> narrator voice: they were not fine,


	3. occupational hazards [shiho & coffee]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, how to ~~walk in fifteen minutes late with Starbucks~~ announce your continued existence to your friendly (??) neighbourhood organisations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (crossposted from [tumblr](http://presumenothing.tumblr.com/post/164701092740), come say hi!)
> 
> シットポスト.txt
> 
> (aka shameless crackfic typed on my phone during lunch break maybe)

All was silent.

Just bare minutes ago, chaos had reigned. Shots had been duly fired in a display fit to rival any army, even if a fair portion of them bore a suspicious resemblance to personal insults and assorted burns.

But now, all but the key players had been taken out, leaving the core members of the Organisation facing off against the FBI (plus CIA! PSB! maybe even MI6 and the KGB? honestly, who was even keeping track by this point) forces. Every last person standing who still had a gun – that was to say, all of them – had one aimed at them as well, and were daring each other to blink first.

Into this knife-edge balance, a final salvo was fired.

The packet of hot pink dye was watched out the corner of many eyes as it flew in a smooth arc to land on Gin's head and promptly burst.

One now-pink eyebrow very carefully failed to twitch.

"Who did this," he said in a voice that carried a disproportionate amount of murder for its volume.

(There were competing theories about this – the FBI had bets on some hidden amplification device hidden in his collar, while Interpol and KGB were both voting for "extensive practice in front of a mirror".)

The silence intensifi-

_Slooooorp_ , went the distinctive sound of a straw finding the bottom of a Starbucks cup.

"Am I late?" asked Shiho (lab coat included) as she walked in, taking another slurp of her pumpkin spice frappe. "See, this is why I quit, there's just no good coffee anywhere nearby."

The silence valiantly attempted to reassert itself despite interruptions, though it now carried the distinct spices of autumn and disbelief.

"S-Sherry!? But you're d-dead!" spluttered someone – Vodka, clearly, since Gin did not splutter and would silence any dissenters with extreme prejudice.

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed." The walking dead reholstered her paint gun with an unbothered expression. "Don't worry about the dye, by the way, it'll wash out. Eventually."

Jodie was the one to ask the question hovering above their heads like a cartoon thundercloud, except pinker. "...eventually?"

"You know," the apparent zombie said, waving a hand airily before resuming her heated pursuit of the remaining whipped cream in her drink. "Either the dye will come out first, or his hair will. I'm not picky, really."

Pink eyebrows definitely twitched this time. There was no denying it. "You're a dead woman, Sherry," hissed the resident cold-blooded killer, with new and improved murderous intent.

"Don't be trite, Gin, you already said – I mean, _spluttered_ – that once." The resurrected scientist shrugged, tossing the empty cup into a conveniently placed dustbin with an elegant overhand throw. "Seriously? I'm, like, immortal now, don't you have any better threats?"

(There was an extended pause, during which several handphone camera shutters went off in the background, completely failing to obscure the sounds of one highly trained undercover agent dying of laughter in a corner.

You didn't become a newscaster without recognising good entertainment when you saw it, after all.)

"...I'm going to sue you for hair damages."

Undead science stifled a wide yawn. "I'm sure the judge will agree that it's a vast improvement, but whatever. Anyway, I have a front row ticket to Big Osaka's game later, so you'll have to excuse me. Text me when you want to sue!"

It was Bourbon's turn to splutter as she turned to leave. "W-wait! Aren't you going to help us?"

"And which side would that be, Poirot-waiter-san?" One non-pink eyebrow was raised archly. "Besides, I'm sure you'll do a better job at this than you did at killing me. Hardly difficult, seeing as you completely failed at that."

Vermouth whistled in reluctant appreciation as the sandwich specialist devolved into incoherent protests.

There was a caffeineless sigh. "Look, I came here to kick ass and drink coffee, and I'm all out of coffee, so if there's no further objections..."

Footsteps echoed across the room as Okiya walked over with one of the canned coffees that had been sitting beside his current pot of curry, all without losing aim on his hot pink target.

Higo's fanclub president took the can and headed for the door. "Right then, I'll be off. And don't bother bringing the curry over if you're not going to salt it properly!"

The door unlocked alongside the sound of a can being opened, and closed back on utter silence, save for the occasional drip of hair dye.

"...is that rice cooker still in the break room, Korn?" asked the voice of Akai Shuuichi. "I think I'm going to need a second opinion on this curry."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no poorly dressed organisations were harmed in the making of this fic. except gin. and bourbon. i don't like them anyway)


	4. tv hour [cognac au: conan & shiho]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (crossposted from [tumblr](http://presumenothing.tumblr.com/post/164882746480), come say hi!)
> 
> saltshakers borrowed from [deductionfreak's cognac au](http://aeolus.ca/tagged/cognac), no FBI agents were harmed in the making of this fic
> 
> probably

**02:00 PM**

“Cozy lodgings you have here, Kudo-kun. You know, I had to be searched twice before I could even step through the front door?”

“No one asked you to come, Miyano.”

“Well, I  _did_  get fired from my last job, so…” Shiho set her bag down on the table, ignoring the FBI agent who was now locking the door behind her.

Conan didn’t look up from his book. “You quit. I was fired.”

Shiho considered this as she slotted a DVD into the television, and picked up the remote. “Fair enough. Move over, you’re taking up the entire couch.”

**02:01 PM**

Nothing happened.

**02:02 PM**

“Are you planning to make me stand here for the entire hour, Kudo-kun?”

**02:03 PM**

Nothing continued to happen.

**02:04 PM**

“Well, I guess the popcorn Mouri-san made is going to go waste, then.”

**02:06 PM**

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Kudo-kun, that’s rude.”

Conan stuffed another handful of popcorn into his mouth, chewing pointedly. “First degree rudeness. Horrific, given my multiple murder charges.”

Shiho reached over, and took the bowl back. “I’m sure Mouri-san will be happy to keep you in kiddy jail. I’ll be sure to visit, don’t worry.”

A box of pocky hit her with a hollow  _bonk_.

**02:11 PM**

The episode duly started, punctuated by various snacks.

“What is this show?”

“A forensic drama of some sort, apparently?” Shiho handed him the DVD case. “I’m not exactly sure, onee-chan lent it to me – she said we might enjoy it.”

Conan read the blurb, one eyebrow rising. “…like Holmes?”

“Maybe,” she answered as the opening credits wound down. “I mean, how bad can it get?”

**02:18 PM**

_“THAT IS NOT HOW SUPPRESSORS WORK. WHAT.”_

“It’s called  _fiction_  for a reason, Kudo-kun – ”

**02:23 PM**

“Standard Anatomical Position Means Having The Radius On The  _Outside_ , You Fools! How Dare You! Call Yourself! A Scientist – ”

**02:26 PM**

“ – no  _hair follicle_ , you  _utter morons_ , the DNA in those cells would’ve degraded  _just like your brains_  – ”

“ – kind of idiot criminal opens the door without gloves? And – ”

“ – even a mask! Stop contaminating those samples, you’re shedding common sense along with your epithelial cells – ”

“ – if you must murder someone do it  _properly_ , I would never – ”

**02:30 PM**

There was a knock on the door before it opened, and Bourbon stuck his head in.

Two completely unsuspicious faces stared back at him, unblinkingly.

“Everything all right in here?” he asked around the sensation of impending doom. “We heard some yelling.”

“If it isn’t Bourbon. Excellent,” said Sherry, doing absolutely nothing to lessen the looming apocalypse. “Would you happen to have a roll of duct tape?”

…he was not going to ask. He was  _not_.

“……why?”

Silence yawned like the maw of ruin, until –

“Murder,” Cognac answered, voice flat.

Bourbon slowly closed the door.

**02:31 PM**

“Oh, and tell Rye to get some snacks!” Sherry called out, right before the door could lock.

**02:35 PM**

“…are they…”

“…supposed to have dated twice in the past? Apparently.” Shiho frowned down at the wiki page on her phone. “It’s some convoluted subplot extending back three seasons, apparently.”

Two highly-trained ex-agents stared at the television in mute bafflement.

“…you said this was a forensic drama.”

“…more drama than forensic, clearly.” She closed the page, and sighed. “Remind me never to take any of my sister’s recommendations ever again.”

**02:41 PM**

Another knock.

“I bought a little of everything,” came Rye’s voice from the door. “You didn’t say what you wanted, and I haven’t tried anything from this shop other than the coffee.”

“Don’t worry,” Shiho said cheerfully, as she took the bag from him. “They’re not for you, anyway.”

**02:42 PM**

“And Bourbon said you wanted duct tape, but refused to come up here himself. He also did mention you two yelling just n–”

**02:43 PM**

Two empty boxes bounced off the suddenly-closed door and fell down to the floor.

**02:44 PM**

“ – just now, but – ”

One last box hit its target squarely with a distinct  _thud_.

**02:45 PM**

“ – but not what it was about,” Rye finished. “Also, time’s almost up, I’ll come back in fifteen minutes.”

**02:47 PM**

Shiho looked through the bag with a grimace of distaste. “Even an actual elementary schooler wouldn’t buy some of these. I don’t know what onee-chan sees in that man, honestly.”

“I assume her reasons are better than this… ‘romantic subplot’.” Conan ate the last handful of the popcorn as he looked at the television. “They appear to have forgotten about the case entirely.”

She snorted. “Hardly surprising, seeing as it was terrible to begin with.”

**02:51 PM**

“Oh, so they  _were_  planning on arresting the culprit at some point?”

“Not that it matters. Kisaki-san would get this entire case dismissed easily.”

“…do you think there are court dr– actually no, forget it, I’d rather now know – ”

**02:52 PM**

Ending credits, to the rhythm of increasingly annoyed munching.

**02:53 PM**

“Tell your sister that I will never trust her with her tastes.”

A pocky, being viciously decapacitated.

“If real forensic labs operated like that, I wouldn’t even have to fix anything.”

_Rrrriiip_ , went the potato chips.

“This is the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

Crunch, grumble, crunch, pause.

“Worse than Rye’s emo phase?”

“…the long hair?”

“The long hair.”

**02:55 PM**

“Still worse, I think.”

**02:57 PM**

“Did you know he’s got hat hair?”

“I… did not know that.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen it – oh, here, I managed to sneak a couple of photos with my phone – ”

**03:00 PM**

A third knock on the door.

“Ready to go?” Rye asked.

There was a significant amount of not-snickering going on.

Shiho said, “These snacks – ”

“ – are terrible,” Conan intoned.

Crunch, crunch, munch.

“ _You’re_  terrible,” they chorused.

“…would you prefer Jodie to get the snacks next time?” asked the FBI’s best undercover agent.

“Nope,” Shiho answered, as she picked up her bag and stalked past him. “But you’d better get it right the next time, or I’ll tell onee-chan that you’re slacking off.”

 

* * *

 

( **03:01 PM**

“I am sorry about your hat hair,” Conan said, expression grave.

Rye facefaulted.)

 

* * *

 

 

**_bonus:_ **

**06:47 PM**

“Ah, Shiho, you’re back! How was the show? Did you enjoy it?”

One eyebrow twitched.

Akemi frowned. “Oh no, what happened?”

**06:49 PM**

“ –  _completely inaccurate_ , no scientific journal worth their ink would even consider results like that, let alone the courts – ”

**06:52 PM**

“ – and apparently lab rules don’t matter at all! Oh yes, it’s not like proper attire and PPE exist for  _any reason at all_  – ”

**06:55 PM**

“Not to mention – ” Shiho paused to take a deep breath.

Akemi grinned. “Sounds like you had a fun time!”

_“Onee-chan – ”_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> local saltshakers now available in three sizes: smol, tol, and  **M U R D E R**


	5. orange juice [conan & ran]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (crossposted from [tumblr](http://presumenothing.tumblr.com/post/165173693225), come say hi!)
> 
> in response to: "Have you ever written a ship fic of Conan and Orange Juice...?"

Conan startled awake from his light doze on the sofa when the door opened.

“I’m home!” a familiar voice called out.

He sat up, rubbing blearily at his eyes. “Welcome home, Ran-neechan!”

There was the shuffle of Ran changing into her house slippers. “The supermarket was having a big sale today, so I bought groceries for the next two weeks. Are you feeling better, Conan-kun?”

“Yeah, even though the cold medicine made me a little drowsy.” More than a little, actually – he’d fallen asleep with his glasses smushed awkwardly against his nose, which he was quickly learning to regret – but he wasn’t about to say that out loud. “You should’ve called me, I could have helped you carry the bags home.”

“Ai-chan texted to say that you’d gone home to rest, and I didn’t want to disturb you,” came Ran’s voice from the kitchen. “Besides, I got you a little surprise, for you to get well again soon!”

“Eh? Really?” Conan asked, looking up from dozens of texts from the DB on his handphone…

…into the pleasantly smiling face of his childhood friend, wielding an extra-large carton of orange juice like one of the bokkens Hattori had taught her to use. 

“You’ve gotten six severe colds in as many months, young man,” said Ran even as he felt the cold chill of doom down his spine, “so you’re going to finish every last drop of this or  _so help me_  – ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i blame patsuko for this
> 
> (context?? what context)


	6. holmes? what holmes [shinichi & ran]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (crossposted from [tumblr](http://presumenothing.tumblr.com/post/165920614075), come say hi!)
> 
> in response to: "Okay, but consider: Shinichi having (or at least trying to build) a Man Cave. Ran is not amused."
> 
> on the one hand, i’d say that local detective kudo shinichi isn’t really the type to have a man cave™ in the usual sense
> 
> …but on the other hand,

“This is the… what, third? antique book auction we’ve been to this month alone, Shinichi, is this really necessary – ”

“You don’t understand, Ran, I  _need_  the full collection for my office, and I heard that there might be a first edition ( _first! edition!_ ) copy of A Study in Scarlet going on sale today, and – ” Shinichi remembered that he needed oxygen to continue existing. “Besides, it’s good for business! Makes the office look very detective, yes?”

“That sentence doesn’t even make any sense, Shinichi, you’re going to start sounding like Poirot at this rate! It’s not like you weren’t already a big mystery otaku to start with, anyway.” Ran huffed in annoyance. It was unconvincing, even to her own ears. “Fine, but that means no whining from you when we go for that Three Kingdoms history tour next month, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, now let’s hurry, I want to get there before my dad finds out about it – ” 

 

 


	7. wit, duly measured [hp!au: conan and ai]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “You know, your Hat tried to put me in Slytherin,” said Haibara apropos of nothing, because she clearly had a radar for when Conan was actually trying to _work_  on something for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (crossposted from [tumblr](http://presumenothing.tumblr.com/post/170494047565), come say hi!)
> 
> or, why au when you can just have one scene without context??

“You know, your Hat tried to put me in Slytherin,” said Haibara apropos of nothing, because she clearly had a radar for when Conan was actually trying to _work_  on something for once.

She was sitting among a small forest of books in the little alcove at the window, as was quickly becoming her customary spot; he wasn’t sure if the Tower made her feel claustrophobic somehow, or if Haibara just enjoyed casting a looming shadow over everyone that much.

“First off – in case you didn’t notice, Hogwarts is your school too now,” he pointed out, with an added _unfortunately_  under his breath. “So you turned the Sorting Hat down?”

“No, I tricked everyone into hearing Ravenclaw so that I could barge into this Common Room of yours without reason,” she answered in a deadpan that suggested she’d heard every word he said; he’d meant her to, anyway. “Of course I turned it down. Don’t be daft, Edogawa-kun.”

That... wasn’t something he’d necessarily put past her, but something in her tone made him look up anyway. “What, green looks terrible on you or something? I didn’t figure you as one of those who’d buy into House stereotypes.”

“I don’t know, Hattori-kun seems to embody Gryffindor’s perfectly well,” Haibara observed critically.

He snorted at that; Hattori was a great friend, he really was, but some things couldn’t be argued with. “Says the Ravenclaw who does Mastery-level work for _fun_ ,” he retorted on principle anyway, which earned him a missile of conjured feathers that was barely started deflected by the chain of Eihwaz runes twining across the parchment in front of him.

Conan glared balefully at the mostly-failed ward and resisted the urge to bang his head on the table. Ancient Runes, especially in defensive uses, had always been more Ran’s thing than his, and he was seriously considering signing up for some other subject in third year if (Merlin forbid) it really came to that again. 

He really, really hoped it didn’t.

“Do you think it’s too early to start turning these in for extra credit?” Haibara asked with every ounce of overachieving nonchalance, so much that he almost didn’t catch it when she continued. “And besides, wanting to finish my parents’ research at all costs is basically what got me – got us – into this mess in the first place, so...”

Conan gave up; his forehead hit the table with a reverberating thunk. “I _knew_  I should’ve just stuck with Gryffindor again,” he grumbled.

“Beware the perils of ambition,” said Haibara sagely, patting his shoulder without sympathy before sauntering off, probably to find Mitsuhiko and the others and impart more wisdom about _Wingardium Leviosa_  than a bunch of first years really ought to know in the first week of classes.

At least _he_  only had his OWLs, although how he was going to go from halfway-to-NEWTs to... whatever it was that first years (even a half-blood with prior exposure to magic) could do, he had seriously no idea.

Conan muffled his groan against the cool surface of the table, and wondered if Professor Kobayashi would take him seriously if he warned her that someone in her class _already_ _held_  a double mastery in Charms and Potions to start with. Or let him test out of her class, failing that.

Probably not, on either count. 

It was already shaping up to be a _fun_ year. Conan had no idea how he was going to survive it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (mitsuhiko's also in ravenclaw but i figure the others for gryffs or puffs probably)


	8. mirror, mirror [hp!au: conan, ai, db]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “And not to mention, if he really did win the cup that’d mean Ravenclaw’s victory over Gryffindor, do you really want Hattori-niichan screaming bloody murder in the halls?”
> 
> (Or, the Mirror of Erised.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (crossposted from [tumblr](http://presumenothing.tumblr.com/post/173578920095/i-wish-u-would-write-a-fic-where-u-finish-the-dcmk), come say hi!)
> 
> or, why au when you can accidentally write another scene for the same au??

“Ooh, ooh, I know!” exclaimed Genta excitedly, for the third time. “Do you see yourself winning the Quidditch Cup, Conan-kun?”

Mitsuhiko’s expression had gained the slightest edge of bemusement. “First years aren’t allowed on the team, Genta-kun, no matter how good a flier Conan-kun is. And not to mention, if he really did win the cup that’d mean Ravenclaw’s victory over Gryffindor, do you really want Hattori-niichan screaming bloody murder in the halls?”

“Besides,” added Ayumi, though her look of longsuffering was clearly for quite another reason altogether, “Ayumi doesn’t think that Conan-kun’s constantly obsessed with Quidditch like you!”

“Indeed, he thinks about other things. Like… hmm, a Holmes collection in pristine first editions?” mused Haibara pointedly aloud as she circled around behind him, before adding in a mutter, “I’m sure Mouri-san will plan your wedding better than a mirror can, Edogawa-kun.”

“Th–  _you–_ ” spluttered Conan eloquently, but he turned to glare at her only to find her looking slightly away.

Only the mirror’s blank face stood behind him, so…

But Haibara heard the question before he could even ask. “None of your business,” she answered shortly, and her gaze swept back across, caught that silvery surface only for a moment, then she too swept from the room herself. “We’re leaving, Ayumi-chan, I heard the Professor found a kneazle by the greenhouses this morning!”

(Even Genta was staring slightly now, and Mitsuhiko slowly asked “…was it something I said?”

Conan sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, this one’s on me,” he said tiredly. “C’mon, let’s get that Charms essay done before they get back, Haibara’s probably annoyed enough to rip mine to shreds anyway.”)

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (and then haibara ends up founding the fanclub for durmstrang seeker higo ryusuke probably)


	9. fake fic titles meme, #1 [crack ed.]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the distance, neither far nor particularly near, someone chooses this moment to let out a particularly piercing wail. No one responds, save the scant few who glance between the clock and the crowd’s faces in case they need an alibi for later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> context: fills "send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i'd write for it" meme on tumblr, except that these turned out more like mini fic excerpts than anything else so archiving here anyway, corresponding prompt titles are above each section. i did a whole buncha these so the more serious ones are next chapter, and the nagano-centric ones [in their own collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12177999/chapters/37717184)

**redeeming qualities**

_(or: the official beika-cho residents support group)_

“The rent’s pretty cheap – ”

“ – only because the realtors don’t want you to ask questions about what happened there before.” The atmosphere in the bar edges towards something that’s either desperate or depressed. Probably both.

“All the jobs come with health insurance – ”

“ – which don’t cover death.” (There’s a collective wince at that one, especially from the older residents. It’d been a protracted and messy battle – or several – in court, arguing over whether or not Mouri-proximity was considered an act of  ~~death~~  god.)

Finally, a thin voice rises from the back of the bar. “We have a perfect crime solve-and-arrest rate?” it ventures to say.

_Only because there were_ murders _to be solved in the first place,_ surfaces the collective thought, the variety no one says aloud, just like how no one really points out the rise of the sun in the east or the sheer weirdness of a guy being able to solve cases while literally asleep.

(And they would know. A good half of the bar has personally  _witnessed_ Mouri drunk, on the days when his antics don’t abruptly collapse into genius. It is not that big a town, after all.)

In the distance, neither far nor particularly near, someone chooses this moment to let out a particularly piercing wail. No one responds, save the scant few who glance between the clock and the crowd’s faces in case they need an alibi for later.

“Next round’s on me,” says the bartender into the silence.

It’s broken by the dopplering chorus of police sirens moments later, but it’s the thought that counts, anyway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**sounds fake**

**i.**  

_a trip to tropical land?,_  aoko texts back with one hand, stirring the stew on the stove with the other.  _sure! as long as kaito’s not planning to use aoko as an alibi again <(｀^´)>  (╬ Ò ‸ Ó)  _ _ヽ _(｀Д´)_ /_

**ii.**  

the waiter’s just finished taking their orders when shinichi stands up. “i’m just going to the restroom, ran,” he says at her Look. “be right back.”

“mhmm,” ran says, far too agreeably, “but if you run off and leave me with the bill, though?” 

she smiles sweetly. 

“remember, i  _know_  where you sleep.”

shinichi meeps in fright.

**iii.**

“ – anyway, the truth is, i really like ya, so there!” 

kazuha hums consideringly. heiji’s face is as red as the huge bunch of roses he’d gotten from somewhere, and he’s breathing hard enough like he’s just finished a marathon – she doesn’t think she (or the entire osaka pd) has ever seen him this unruffled before, whether it’s taking down a criminal or after a kendo match.

“eh, not too bad,” she decides finally. “that last bit could do with some work though. is this for some school play that i don’t know about? or are ya gonna go run off and play kudo again? if yes i’ll have ta give ran-chan a heads-up, she made me promise i would!”

“i –  _what_  – ” he splutters. “no – this is – i’m bein’  _serious_  here – ”

kazuha rolls her eyes and bops him on the forehead with a finger. “yeah, yeah, i  _know_ , heiji, jeez, you ahou! god, i can’t believe kudo-kun was right, you really  _do_  turn into a useless detective once i’m involved…”

heiji scowls. “then why did you give me a heart attack for, huh?”

(half a second later: “WAIT, WHAT D’YA MEAN, YA WERE TALKING TO  _KUDO_  ABOUT THIS – ”)

 

 

* * *

  

 

**the smartest idiot**

“ – an’ i was so sure that he was  _actually_  gonna confess this time, but  _nooo!_ ” kazuha gestures dramatically with one hand, finishing off the last paragraph with the other – honestly, they’ve done this so often she could write one in her sleep. “i swear, i’m of half a mind to act like i didn’t hear him when he finally gets it together to confess properly, and he’d totally deserve it! don’t ya agree, otaki-han?!”

“um,” says otaki goro, “not tha’ i  _don’t_  agree, kazuha-chan, but why are you telling  _me_  this?”

“bec––ause!!” says kazuha, downing another gulp of the canned cocoa she and  _that **idiot**_  kept stashed here for just such occasions, because neither of them really liked the brand that the precinct vending machines sold, and the pantry coffee was just – yeah, nope. “that ahou ran off to solve another case and ditched me here to write up the witness statements on my own!  _and_  i did try calling ran-chan like five separate times, but it all went to voicemail, she only ever stays on the phone that long when she’s talking to kudo-kun! which – i mean, i’m real happy for ran-chan an’ all, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not fair that  _she’s_  getting more relationship development when kudo-kun is barely even around to start with! right?”

otaki hesitates, scratching at the back of his head. “don’t tell him or shizuka-han i said this, but the chief was kinda like that too, when we were younger? if it’s any consolation,” he adds lamely. “he got better, though. eventually.”

kazuha screams inarticulately into the now-empty can. it echoes back in desolation.

 

 

* * *

  

 

**secret to success**

“ – nope, that’s where yer wrong, Kudo! The real secret to bein’ a great detective is  _style!_ ” says one Hattori Heiji, eyes glinting as he leans his chair forward, towards their audience across the table. “You kids gotta come ta Osaka one of these days, and I’ll show ya what it means to be on my turf!”

“Show them the backseat of a police cruiser, you mean,” Shinichi retorts, nudging Hattori’s chair so that he falls back with a yelp. “You don’t even  _like_  Holmes!”

“Oh?” Hattori’s eyebrow ascends to new heights. “Do I need ta get th’ neechan to give ya the ‘he’s fictional,  _fictional!_ ’ talk again?”

“So’s your Ellery Queen, I’d remind you – and next you’re going to say that the secret’s your cap, aren’t you – ”

“ – what, yer got a problem with my cap? It’s a great cap – ”

“A _hem_ ,” interrupts another voice, and they look up to meet Haibara’s glare before she promptly starts chivvying the Detective Boys away. “They’re both wrong, the real secret to deductive success is  _finishing our summer project_ ,” she says very  _very_  loudly, “especially given that Edogawa-kun has decided to be a no-show – ”

“Oi oi,” Shinichi mutters dejectedly. “It’s not like I don’t have months’ worth of my  _own_  homework to catch up on already…”

Hattori pats his back commiseratingly. “C’mon, I’ll help you with it.”

 

 


	10. fake fic titles meme, #2 [serious ed.]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The afternoon sun is a piercing wash of crisp brightness – a welcome change, really, but still she has to blink the spots away from her eyes nevertheless. When her vision clears it’s to see Mouri-san’s expression the faintest bit concerned, well-hidden but still there. “Are you alright, Ai-chan?”

**i must not tell lies**

  


“Wait until they find out what  _you’ve_  done,” Gin hisses viciously. “Then – ”  


She interrupts him by standing up mid-sentence, and doesn’t even wince at the screech of the chair as she pushes it pointedly back. “What makes you think I mean to hide any of it?”

 _“Sherry,”_  he says, and it’s the very voice of her nightmares save for the serrated edge of almost-fear beneath it all, for the first time in memory. “You wouldn’t  _dare_.”

 _Should’ve thought of that before you killed onee-chan,_  she thinks, watching a pair of (doubtlessly heavily-vetted) guards descend upon the visiting room gate, thinks  _if this brings you down forever?_  and –

“You’re right,” Haibara Ai says, “ _Sherry_  would never have.”

The bars slide closed behind her instead of slamming shut, but it echoes far down the corridor anyway.

  


* * *

  


The afternoon sun is a piercing wash of crisp brightness – a welcome change, really, but still she has to blink the spots away from her eyes nevertheless. When her vision clears it’s to see Mouri-san’s expression the faintest bit concerned, well-hidden but still there. “Are you alright, Ai-chan?”  


“Insofar as I can be,” she answers dryly, before surprising herself with a yawn. “I just want to leave, if it’s all the same to you, Mouri-san.”

“Of course. And I’ve told you, it’s just Ran,” Mour–  _Ran-san_  answers with immediate cheer, extending a hand. “C’mon then.”

From somewhere ahead comes the half-familiar tones of Kudo-kun taking full advantage of his restored height to better argue some point with the professor; within the next minute they’ll likely have noticed her return, if M– Ran-san doesn’t call out to them first.

Ai takes her proffered hand and heads over to join them.

  


  


* * *

* * *

  


  


**from a certain perspective**

  


There were three kinds of people now, as far as Shinichi was concerned: those who still didn’t know, those who acted like nothing had changed at all (mostly Hattori), and those who were suddenly confused about how to treat him. (Not that Shinichi particularly blamed them, since he himself still wasn’t entirely sure how to act, most days.)

And then there was Sonoko, who’d listened for all of three seconds before getting the glint in her eye that did not bode well for his immediate future, but that was a bridge he’d cross when they got to it.

  


* * *

  


Miwako had thought – 

– well, more accurately, she  _hadn’t_  known what to think, really. But if you’d asked her to make a guess, before this, she’d probably have said that finding out the truth behind Edogawa Conan would’ve been a relief more than anything else: to know that the intellect she and Wataru had been increasingly seeing behind those bespectacled eyes had an explanation other than the outlandish (if increasingly plausible) theories running like wildfire about Tokyo MPD.

But she’d also forgotten what it’d also mean: to know that it was  _Kudo Shinichi_ she’d been seeing all along, that the case from the highway hadn’t been an isolated incident.

It didn’t…  _scare_  her, not exactly, but still she couldn’t help staring a little when they finally ran into Kudo-kun at a regular homicide case again, with no shadowy organisation conspiracy in sight. 

“What is it, Sato-keiji?” he’d said in puzzlement when he caught her looking.  


“Ah, no, it’s just – I just wanted to thank you, actually,” Miwako ended up answering, because it was true anyway. “For all the times you helped with cases as Conan-kun.”  


“Oh, that?” Kudo-kun laughed sheepishly, and it’s only unfamiliar in the lack of a mostly-unconvincing redirect of her attention following it. “It’s nothing, anyone would’ve done that if they could.”

(Miwako thought of the pain she’d seen him in, back there on the highway, that she’d known with certainty to be genuine even then, and disagreed.)

  


  


  



	11. once more with feeling (or, spooky action at no distance)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first thing that Shiho does with her newfound freedom from both matter and gravity (along with most of physics and the sciences, really, natural or otherwise) is to float back out to the main lab, and sigh a non-essential breath of relief at the absence of a tiny horde of spectral lab rats scurrying about.
> 
> Admittedly the process of doing so is rather less smooth than imagination might suggest, with more error than trial in the grander scale of things, but such is the steady march of science.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> belated halloween-ish fic, aka questionably-serious crackfic with a heavy side of casual morbidity and inappropriate science. also entirely unedited phonefic which i refuse to even reread before posting.
> 
> beware of character death (sorry shiho) and property destruction (not sorry). working title: the ectoplasmic method. this is what happens when grad school deadlines meet the looming shadow of finals?? idk just have it anyway

Somewhere, in the cell of a singularly dismal back room –

A figure falls to slump against the wall, the handcuff on one wrist letting out the sad jingle of a clink as it takes on most of her weight.

The same somewhere, scant minutes later –

"Oh, _bollocks,_ " says a disembodied voice, two feet up and several inches to the left, with more heartfelt feeling than its owner ever really displayed in life. "This isn't even scientific at all!"

 

* * *

 

…ahem. Anyway.

The first thing that Shiho does with her newfound freedom from both matter and gravity (along with most of physics and the sciences, really, natural or otherwise) is to float back out to the main lab, and sigh a non-essential breath of relief at the absence of a tiny horde of spectral lab rats scurrying about.

Admittedly the process of doing so is rather less smooth than imagination might suggest, with more error than trial in the grander scale of things, but such is the steady march of science.

Either way, some brief confusion of force and acceleration aside, the lab proves empty of any (other) less-than-corporeal entities.

Hypothesis: either said rats were once here and had since dissipated with the pass of time (because she refuses to use such a vague phrase as _move on,_ even setting aside the question of whether it would even – theoretically – apply to animals of questionable self-awareness), or this… ectoplasmic… existence is yet another astronomically-rare effect of the apoptoxin.

Shiho's still mulling over the question when she reaches for the coffeepot from long habit…

…only for her hand to pass right through it. Predictably enough, in hindsight.

Her eyebrow twitches.

 

* * *

 

…

……

………………

 

* * *

 

Revised hypothesis: the afterlife _sucks._

 

* * *

 

The moment of decaffeinated betrayal is interrupted by the insistently loud tick of the wall clock.

Her baleful glare at it yields nothing much of use, since she hasn't had any way of reliably telling the time over the past couple days, given her spectacularly cozy accomodations.

If nothing else, it's probably going to be a couple hours until someone discovers her very dead body and alerts Gin, she thinks in no little vindication – followed by an itemised list of unprintably detailed expletives.

Because, in that moment of thought, she'd suddenly found herself elsewhere in a quantum blink, with no experience or memory of having crossed the intervening space.

_And_ staring Gin almost in the face, no less.

Shiho definitely does _not_ shriek as she throws herself aside, all the while cursing stupidly broken FTL teleports that didn't even have the decency to deposit her somewhere more pleasant. Like Majorca, maybe. Or even back to America.

…actually, on that thought – Shiho narrows her eyes in concentration.

Several (failed) attempts at geographically displacing herself later, she gives it up as a bad job, earmarked for further study. At the very least Gin didn't act like he'd heard any ghostly screeching that may or may not have happened, even if he also failed to display signs of the sudden chill – more's the pity – that featured so consistently in those terrible movies she'd had the misfortune of being coerced into watching by _certain_ people one time too many.

Though she supposes that could also be due to the fact that she'd dodged with the express purpose of _not_ having him walk through her. Not that intersecting spaces with a corridor wall had turned out to be a much more comfortable option, on the whole, but it's mostly a matter of metaphysical principle.

Either way. Shiho inches forward until she's no longer coexisting with shoddily-constructed cinderblock, all the while cheerfully ignoring whatever nefariously above-her-paygrade evil Gin is monologuing about to Vodka, over the increasingly loud click of heels.

…wait. _Heels?_ she repeats mentally, before promptly noping back through the wall before she has to experimentally verify whether _Vermouth_ , of all people, can see her or not.

Which is how she finds herself somewhere that looks suspiciously like Gin's dressing room, complete with shelves of overpriced hair product, full-length mirrors, and a wardrobe she assumes must be full of identical white turtlenecks and black trenchcoats.

"Hm," she says, aloud, as she sets to work. All in the name of science, of course.

(Careful recollection of events, multiple attempts, and a fair assortment of choice swears later, she figures out what her previous attempts at properly haunting ghosthood had been lacking: emotion.

Fortunately, she doesn't lack for any degree of anger in this circumstance. It still takes some trying to have the conditioner bottles explode messily rather than just fall off the shelves with a series of dull thunks, but eventually she manages it.

Though she limits herself to breaking only one mirror. Just in case the bad luck accrues to her instead of Gin.

Then again, she _is_ dead. How much worse can it get, really?)

 

* * *

 

Armed with her newfound discovery, she attempts to teleport again. A few minutes' intense concentration on the comfortable familiarity of her lab brings her back to where she started, but thinking fondly of her doctoral research lab garners her nothing but a faint headache and an impending sense of hypocrisy.

At least she confirms that her body is still where she left it.

Honestly, she's almost unsure whether to be offended or not, Shiho thinks, as she watches the slow creep of rigor mortis across her muscles.

Unbidden, the lone photo from that newspaper clipping flashes to mind –

 

* * *

 

"…oh, come _on!_ "

 

* * *

 

Look, it's not like Shiho _can_ deny the miniature cataclysm of feelings surrounding even the echo of that image, but really? _Really?_ After everything _else_ she's tried?

And why to an _elementary school_ , of all places? Jeez.

Shiho rolls her eyes at the corridor – which stands empty, this time – and swears off shattering any more mirrors before floating off again. There's an awkward moment when she vaguely recalls something about children supposedly being more sensitive to unscientific phenomena, though that's quickly falsified by the inhabitants of the first half-dozen classrooms she passes through, teacher or student alike.

Ironically enough it's the de-aged Kudo Shinichi who _does_ react somewhat to her presence, when she finally manages to locate his classroom – and honestly, couldn't he have at least faked his way into a higher grade? Pretend to be _very_ unusually short for his age or something? That can't be enjoyable at all.

Shiho tries to imagine herself stuck with this bunch of seven-year-olds and can't help a shudder, which is why she almost misses one of said children leaning slightly backwards in her seat to whisper far too loudly. "Are you alright, Conan-kun? Do you need a sweater?"

"No, I'm fine," Kudo-kun demurs, rejecting the profferred garment – quite rightly too, Shiho thinks, since that's just plain asking to be a vector for germs. "Just a cold draft, that's all."

He doesn't look even once in her direction, but relaxes visibly when she finally floats back out of the classroom to observe via a window.

Huh. Interesting. Maybe it's something about having seen too many corpses?

Shiho almost discards that out of hand on grounds of Gin, who had seen easily ten times as many dead bodies, most by virtue of having put them there by his own hands.

Admittedly, now that she thinks on it, it does seem entirely possible that Gin would not notice a localised drop in temperature due to being cold-blooded to start with, anyway.

She has insufficient data, she decides, and three working guesses: either Kudo-kun has seen too many deaths, too many corpses, or he's just looped into the same cosmic joke for having taken the apoptoxin as well.

History and statistics suggest that she'll eventually run into both mass murderers and homicide officers if she hangs around him long enough. Which leaves the third category quite unverifiable, but at least it'd make more sense than some high school detective managing to be the single outlier that should not be counted in any statistic, ever.

Though even waiting out the school day in the hope of some murders happening feels like an increasingly unattractive prospect, she thinks, pulling a face at the chalkboard's worth of mind-numbingly basic math when the bell stubbornly refuses to ring the end of first period.

She didn't skip through the first half of her education just to subject herself to it in _death_ , of all things, and besides it's about time someone found her body anyway.

Shiho contemplates the hallway ceiling for a minute before managing to rebel further against gravity until she reaches the rooftop, already preparing to move herself back to the lab once she gets her bearings straight.

Then someone behind her gasps _Shiho?_ in a voice all too familiar, and she –

 

* * *

 

Shiho isn't actually too sure what happens, in the following minutes.

Somewhere in the glassy shards of thought left fractured by her sister's voice is a swift-rising horror that it'd all been _a lie_ – that the bullet which killed Akemi-oneechan was one she'd made **_with her own hands_** –

And maybe she says some of this out loud, maybe she doesn't, maybe it's simply that her sister has ever been the sole person in this world who understood her (even if she'd only realised that too late), but when the unrelenting static finally clears Shiho find herself not-quite hyperventilating on the rooftop of one Teitan Elementary, head spinning from the lack of air that she doesn't even need, and the one voice she'd never thought she'd hear again.

Even through the haze she can hear onee-chan saying things like _it's not your fault, never was_ and Shiho almost shakes her head in reflexive denial, even as her mind whirrs back to that thrice-damned photograph and whispers agreement in logic, that death by apoptoxin is instantaneous and a gunshot wound would've left a significantly different blood spatter post-mortem, which meant –

_"How are you here?"_ she chokes out, unable and unwilling to look up and meet those eyes. "If it wasn't the APTX – "

"APT– oh, is that the drug you were working on? No," Akemi says, with a sudden vindictiveness that startles Shiho into looking up anyway. "No, it was that utter scumbag Gin who shot me, you can take my word for that."

Shiho supposes that she must look unconvinced somehow, because Akemi adds, "I'd say that you could confirm with that little detective about that, but… well…"

Her gaze follows the wave of onee-chan's hand down to a cluster of small figures in the field, one of which is barely identifiable as Edogawa Conan, from this distance. It raises another dozen questions in turn, but still Shiho persists. "But how are you still here? Why haven't you… moved on?"

"Unfinished business, I suppose you could say."

"Huh?"

Akemi-oneechan blinks at that, in some apparent surprise. "Isn't it obvious?"

Shiho shakes her head in full earnesty.

"Oh, Shiho," Akemi almost-sighs, as she floats over and – catches hold of her hands, with a bout of warmth against all logic, the first solid thing Shiho's felt since this all started. "It's you, of course, it was always you."

…her words won't work and either way she knows not what to say to that, so Shiho just stands (floats) there, gaping silently like an idiot.

Somehow Akemi-oneechan is still smiling. "Well, I mean – I did manage to track down Dai-kun by accident, and I've been keeping an eye out for anything around Conan-kun, you wouldn't believe the amount of trouble he gets into. But the only one I worried over was you, and yet I couldn't find you, no matter what I tried…"

Shiho tries – and mostly fails – to process all this, and pieces together the next logical question. "Then what about me?"

She'd thought that it'd been because of the apoptoxin, but that's obviously invalid now, even if it galls her to replace that with such a _ridiculously nebulous_ notion as _unfinished business_ –

"There must be something you haven't done, a wish you haven't fulfilled, or… well," Akemi pauses, and Shiho can tell just from the lilt of her tone that she's not going to like whatever follows next, "like I've always been telling you, maybe it's just that you need to live a little. Have some fun, you know!"

And Shiho surprises them both by snorting a laugh at that. "In that case, I've gotten a start on that already."

To describe Akemi-oneechan's expression as starry-eyed would not be amiss, nor her voice as a squeal. "What did you _do?_ "

"…destroy all of Gin's hair products?"

"Really?! Oh my god, Shiho-chan, I'm so proud, I always knew you had it in you – "

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen i literally?? don’t even?? know???? i did not see this coming, no plans here only bad jokes. the semi-crack antidote to [this previous fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16222799) or something i guess, except not really

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
